


Numb Until You Earn It

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [67]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Neglect, Poor Nines just needs a hug, Protective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, RK900 is named Nines, Self-Esteem Issues, sumo is best boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: The RK900 was found after the revolution, so it makes sense that the others are used to Connor, they are used to his presence, they are used to there being only one android in the precinct. Nines knows this, it is okay.He just wishes he would be able to stop hurting whenever they remind him that he is the Other Android.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Sumo, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 20
Kudos: 238
Collections: Good Things Come In Small Packages





	Numb Until You Earn It

**Author's Note:**

> nines was literally in the game for like thirty seconds and we all decided he's a dick, okay we're being mean
> 
> give this poor boy a goddamn hug okay

Fandom: DBH

Prompt: “You’re making me think what they told me about you was right.”

* * *

He is the other android.

Nines knows that his activation took place only a few days after the android revolution. It would be unreasonable to expect that in that short span of time, the attitude towards androids would completely alter. Even in the police department. Perhaps _especially_ in the police department. When Connor and Hank brought him in to see Captain Fowler, the android charging station he’d seen in Connor’s memory had already been removed, the receptionists—Hayley and Anna—looked happier and told him how much they actually enjoyed staying here, and the other officers had looked happy to see Connor. And he did not have much to complain about, truthfully. The Captain had taken one look at him, heard Connor and Hank, and hired him on. They had worked quickly through the requisite training and paperwork and soon Nines was out with Connor and Hank, working the cases.

Here, though, came the first…occurances.

“Hey, get your plastic butt over here,” Hank grumbles from the other side of the crime scene. Nines straightens up obediently and trots over, hovering behind Hank’s shoulder.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Jesus!” Hank startles, whirling around. “Damnit, Nines, don’t do that.”

Nines frowns. “Do what?”

“Sneak up behind me.” Hank shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You need something?”

“You said to ‘get my plastic butt over here,’ Lieutenant.”

“Oh no, not you.” Hank flaps a hand at Connor, who’s already focused on the piece of evidence at Hank’s feet. “Him.”

“O-oh.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” Hank claps him on the shoulder. “We got it. Did _you_ find anything?”

Nines rattles off what he’s found, watching as Hank nods, Connor agrees, and the other officers at the scene move on to the next phase. He files away the strange twinge in his thirium pump for later.

The next time he’s on his way to the crime scene and he pulls up to see Officer Miller standing outside, waiting. He exits the cab and walks over.

“Officer?”

“Oh, hey, uh…”

“Nines.”

“Nines, that’s right.” Officer Mills waves him through. “Hank’s already here, he’s been asking for you.”

“You here yet?” And yes, that is definitely Hank yelling from inside.

“I’m here, Lieutenant,” Nines answers, ducking under a fallen beam, “how can I help?”

Hank’s head pokes around the corner. “Oh. Hey, Nines. Where’s Connor?”

Nines’ LED cycles yellow, then back to blue.

“Connor’s still at the station. He’s working with Captain Fowler on the litigation.”

“Oh.” Hank looks him up and down once before shrugging. “Eh, it’s fine. Come on.”

That twinge is back. As Nines follows Hank around the crime scene, getting to work, he keeps seeing Hank do double-takes, turning to say something over his shoulder even though there’s no one there. He keeps looking at Nines like he’s surprised or not looking high enough like he’s expecting someone shorter. It doesn’t leave when they wrap up, nor when another set of officers comes by and Nines hears one of them mutter about ‘expecting the other one.’

On the ride back to the station, Nines sends Connor the brief, asking about how everything’s going with the litigation. Connor thanks him, saying they’ve got it under control. When they get back to the station, Nines notices Hayley and Anna doing the same double-takes. Is…he’s not _that_ new, is he?

“Connor!”

Connor smiles and Hank’s voice sounds a little warmer. The two of them meet by their desks as Nines takes a seat at his. His desk is across the room from theirs.

“Oh, no, Nines sent the brief to me already,” he hears Connor say. He glances up to see Hank blink in surprise before their conversation continues, hushed so that Nines cannot hear. He does not miss the way that Hank ruffles Connor’s hair, nor the looks the two of them get from the other officers.

When android cases come in, they are assigned to Connor and Hank. When the cases come in and one of them is busy, Nines is called in. When both of them are busy, the case gets put aside until one of them is free.

“Hank! Connor!” Captain Fowler leans down from the bullpen. “I want those reports done by the end of the week!”

“I’ve completed them, Captain,” Nines calls, “please let me know if they must be altered.”

Captain Fowler blinks. “O-oh. As you were.”

Connor and Hank look surprised too. Hank grunts and Connor gives him one of his polite smiles. He does not like those.

They’re at a crime scene and Connor analyses a thirium sample, much to Hank’s disgust.

“It’s going to take me a few minutes,” he says, ignoring Hank’s retching noises in the corner, “this is a complicated sample.”

Nines kneels down to analyze it too.

“Oh, god, not you too! It’s bad enough having one of you!”

“The subject is a discontinued HK300,” Nines says, “damaged by an influx of thirium deterioration brought on by exposure to high amounts of ionizing radiation. I suggest we look near the storage units.”

He looks up to see all the other officers staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“You, uh…” Hank swallows. “How’d you do that?”

“I am an RK900. My processors are equipped to handle a greater influx of data.”

“Oh.” Hank throws his hands up. “Come on, Connor, let’s go look.”

Connor gives him a strange look before following Hank. Hank did not ask for Nines to come.

They are in the precinct, during one of the slow days.

“Hey, tin can!”

Nines looks around. Detective Gavin Reed is striding across the precinct floor. He knows the detective’s attitude towards androids rivals even Hank’s former ire, but he _had_ thought the revolution would’ve done something in the way of altering it. Apparently not. He readies himself to respond to the detective who—

—walks right past him.

Nines frowns, turning to see Detective Reed sling an arm around Connor’s shoulders. Connor doesn’t push him off and Hank doesn’t even look up.

Wrong tin can.

It is completely understandable. Connor has a reputation established. He has been working here, with these people, for longer than Nines. He has a closer bond with them, it is to be expected that they prefer him.

Connor came first.

It does not matter than Nines has the same capabilities as Connor, plus a few that Connor does not. It does not matter than Nines has proven his worth on cases. It does not matter that his desk is on the opposite side of the precinct from Connor and Hank, even if they do share a home. It does not matter that the other officers still do not remember his name, even when Hank gives Connor permission to use ‘Anderson’ as his last name.

Connor is happy. Hank is happy. They have earned their happiness.

Nines will have to earn his too.

He puts his head down—at least as much as he can with the sharp point at the peak of his collar, his uniform is designed to be posture correcting to maintain professionalism and ensure the proper respect is given—and works. He gets the reports done. He catalogs the evidence as quickly as he finds it. He does not complain when they keep him shuttled away in the corner. He reminds the others of his name when they forget it. When he has established his record, it is only then that he asks Captain Fowler if he may be allowed to work an android case when Connor and Hank are busy. He works quickly and methodically. He is polite to the other officers at the scene, asking them for their assistance and thanking them for their time. He gets his paperwork nice and simple. He nods when Captain Fowler praises his efficiency. That is what he was designed to do.

And still, they prefer Connor.

Connor is not ignored when he walks into the precinct in the morning. Connor is the one they joke with. Connor does not have to ask before he tells Hank what he has found. Connor is the one they call for when they need an android. Connor is the one Hank looks for instinctively when the suspect has a gun. Connor is the one Hank fusses over when he dives at Hank to push him out of the way. Connor is the one who doesn’t have to check out medical supplies under his own name because Hank will check them out for him.

Connor is the one who doesn’t get asked to fetch cups of coffee.

That is alright. That is work, work is one thing.

Then, one night, when they are all due for a long weekend, Nines finishes his paperwork first and tells them he is going to go home, to get started on the food and everything. They wave him off, too focused on finishing their own paperwork. Nines waves goodbye to Hayley and Anna and catches a cab. He does not ride in Hank’s car. That is not for him.

He arrives home and Sumo trots up excitedly. Nines smiles and leans down to pat the dog.

“We will go out for a walk when I have started the food,” he promises, “just wait a little longer.”

Sumo flops down by the entrance to the kitchen, resting his head on his paws to watch Nines get everything ready. He gets to his feet, tail wagging excitedly when Nines finishes and takes the leash.

“Come on,” Nines says, “just once around the block, yes?”

It is pleasant outside. Sumo walks leisurely and they make it back in thirty minutes. A neighbor next door does a double-take when she sees in it Nines walking Sumo.

Nines sits down on the floor, letting Sumo crawl into his lap for pets. Sumo buries his head in the crook of Nines’ shoulder and Nines reaches up to undo his collar so it will not accidentally poke Sumo instead of him. He sets it carefully aside and wraps his arms around the dog. Sumo barks happily and Nines smiles.

Connor and Hank come home at some point, Hank helping himself to the food while Connor scolds him half-heartedly for not eating healthier on a regular basis. The second Hank sits down and Connor plops by his side on the couch, Sumo wriggles determinedly out of Nines’ arms and goes to Connor, begging to be let up.

“Down, Sumo,” Connor says, giving him a pat on the head. Sumo whines, settling at Connor’s feet. Even when Nines taps on the floor to remind Sumo that he is still here, he will give him hugs and pets and everything he wants, Sumo does not move away from Connor.

Nines looks at them.

Connor lounges on the couch, his legs tossed over one of the arms, his uniform jacket tossed aside and his tie gone. The top few buttons on his shirt are undone. One of Hank’s one hoodies drops off his shoulders. His head rests against Hank’s shoulder. Hank stretches out, one arm setting the plate of finished food aside, the other wrapped around Connor’s shoulders. At the foot of the couch, next to Hank’s legs, Sumo sprawls on the floor, resigned to simply being _near_ his family and not among them. Their eyes are fixed on the flickering screen. Connor’s LED spins a lazy, contented blue. Hank’s usually grizzled face looks softer, happier. There is not an inch of the couch that is not occupied by Connor, Hank, or Sumo.

They did not even say ‘hello’ to Nines when they got home.

Nines gets up, hoping that maybe, _maybe,_ the movement will draw some attention; a question, perhaps—“Nines, what’s wrong?” or “where’re you off to?”—or even an observation—“Jesus, Nines, you scared the crap outta me,” or a bark from Sumo—or even just a look.

Nothing. They do not take their eyes off the screen. Sumo’s head does not raise from his paws. Nines takes one step. Two steps. Three steps. They do not acknowledge the movement, nor do they move apart from each other.

Nines leaves the family in the living room and ducks carefully out to the backyard, shutting the door behind him.

He sits slowly down onto the porch, the old beams creaking in protest as he settles his weight onto them. It is no longer pleasant outside. It is cold. It is windy. It is supposed to storm tonight.

The breeze hitting Nines sharpens, whirling angrily around the obstruction, howling in protest as it whistles through the tiny gaps left by his arms hugging his knees, tucked up to his chest. His temperature sensors take a moment to adjust. It is not comfortable, but it is stable. It does not hurt. Nines closes his eyes when the stronger gusts start to blow, reminding him of where he is. He uncurls, setting his legs carefully apart, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced casually together. Like this, the wind has a much larger surface to hit, smacking his chest plate, curling its tendrils around him. The thin shirt of his uniform does nothing to impede it. It is cold.

Nines does not move. If he moves, the wind will pass over him like he is not there. If he moves, the wind will forget him. If he moves, he will fade away. He has to stay completely still so the wind _knows_ he is there.

It is cold.

His LED flickers. There is a call from the precinct. A question about the paperwork from one of the more recent cases involving a biocomponent theft. Nines answers the questions dutifully, sending the corresponding bits of evidence when the officer asks. The officer must be calling on speakerphone; Nines can hear the background clatter of the precinct.

Another officer calls from across the room. “Hey, you get those answers from Connor yet?”

“Nah,” the officer on the phone says, “from the other android.”

_The Other Android._

“Will that be all, officer?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.” The line goes dead.

**_Stress Levels 67%_ **

It is cold.

Nines does not know how long he sits there. In the dark, in the wind, in the cold. At one point he opens his eyes just to make sure there is no one else around and he has to blink. Oh. It has started raining. He did not notice; he expected his sensors to tell him when it had. He runs a quick diagnostic. Ah. It seems that the cold has impeded his sensor’s ability to detect things. Although, now that he knows it is there, he can feel little pings of additional coldness where the drops strike his skin. He searches for the right word to describe what is happening to him.

**_Numb: deprived of the power of sensation; unable to think, feel, or respond normally._ **

That is it. He is numb.

Perhaps if he sits here for long enough, he will go completely numb. Then it will not hurt anymore when he is called ‘the Other Android.’ He will earn his happiness, perhaps he can earn it through becoming numb first.

“Nines? Nines! _Nines!_ ”

Is that his name? Ah, yes. He had picked it when Conner and Hank first found him in the Cyberlife warehouse. Connor had not liked that he did not have a name so he selected one to make him happy. Perhaps he should have selected differently…

“Nines!”

Nines discovers that being numb makes it difficult to move when he turns slowly toward the sound of the voice. It is not painful, but his synthetic muscles will not respond as quickly. He looks through the rain toward the door, when someone is standing with an umbrella. No, two people are standing with an umbrella.

“Yes?”

“Nines, come in! Come back, you’re soaking wet!” Connor waves at him frantically from the inside. “You’re going to get hurt!”

No, he is numb. Numb does not hurt.

“I am alright, Connor,” Nines says, “do not worry.”

“Damnit, Nines, you ain’t alright!” Oh. Hello, Hank. “Get your plastic butt over here!”

Nines turns back around. He is talking to Connor. He does not want Connor to get hurt. Perfectly understandable. “You should do as Hank says,” he calls to Connor, “and go back inside.”

“We were talking to _you!”_

No, that is not right. When Hank says that, he is never talking to Nines.

“I am alright,” he repeats, “I am not hurt.”

“That’s not true!” He cannot turn back around to see Connor. Interesting. “My scans say your temperature is getting dangerously low! Please, Nines, come back!”

If it will make Connor happy, Nines will try. He manages to turn, carefully, getting one hand on the deck and beginning to push himself up. He takes one step. He falls. Interesting.

“ _Nines!_ ”

“I am numb,” he says calmly, “my components will not respond quickly. Please, this will only take a moment.”

But Connor is there, wrapping his arms around Nines and pulling him upright. Nines it too numb to flinch away.

Connor’s touch _burns._

He does not remember being pulled inside, nor does he remember being pulled to the bathroom. He remembers Hank snatching a towel and mopping up the trail he left.

“I can do that,” Nines says, “you do not need to.”

“No,” Hank says sternly, pointing a finger at him, “you are gonna sit right there and wait.”

Oh. Okay. He does not want Hank to be angry so he will sit right here and wait. His fingers are too numb for him to fold them properly into his lap so he lets them fall limply onto his legs.

Sumo comes sniffing into the bathroom, walking up to Nines perched on the edge of the tub, and carefully nosing his knee. Nines is too numb to pat Sumo properly but he can lay his hand on Sumo’s head. Sumo licks at his fingers and whines.

“I am sorry, Sumo,” Nines says, “I cannot move my hands properly. You can ask Connor, I know you prefer his pets anyway.”

Sumo huffs, giving Nines’ hands one last lick before trotting toward the door. Nines watches him go, focusing on Connor standing just outside, his LED spinning red, red, red.

“Hello, Connor.”

“Hi, Nines,” Connor says weakly, coming inside and standing over Nines. It is one of the few times Connor is taller than Nines. Perhaps they should have made it that way, to begin with. “Um…are you okay?”

“I am alright.”

Connor huffs. “You say that, but you don’t sit out for hours in the freezing rain until you can’t _move_ properly if you’re alright. What’s _wrong,_ Nines? You’re making me think what they told me about you was right.”

“Who? What…what did they tell you?”

“Hayley and Anna,” Connor says in a rush, “they said you were—you looked—they said your LED was bright red when you left.”

Oh. It does not surprise him. It also does not surprise him that he did not notice.

Connor holds out his hand, synthetic skin peeling away to show the white chassis. Nines lifts his hand obediently, revealing his own. His hand is too cold to grip Connor’s properly, but Connor grabs his hand tight and will not let go.

_Show me,_ he pleads over the network, _please._

Nines obeys. He shows Connor how they do not remember his name, how they do not ask for _him,_ how he is separated from them, an afterthought, how they do not notice him. He shows how he is The Other Android.

Connor’s eyes well up with tears when he shows them the memory from earlier tonight when even Sumo did not notice him leave.

“Oh, _Nines,_ ” Connor sobs, throwing his arms around Nines’ neck, “I’m so _sorry,_ I didn’t notice, I—I didn’t—“

Nines is too numb to hug Connor back, but he tries. He raises his arms and they slide off Connor’s shoulders. He tries again and his fingers scrabble uselessly for purchase against Hank’s hoodie. He tries again and this time he can’t even get his arms out of his lap. He whimpers.

Connor responds, slipping his arms under Nines and pulling him close, letting Nines drape his arms over Connor. Connor is _warm,_ and Nines burns. Nines must be so cold to Connor, this should hurt.

“I don’t _care,_ ” Connor cries into Nines’ hair, “I don’t _care_ and you’re _hurt_ and _you’re my brother.”_

“Whoa, hey,” Hank’s voice says, making his way quickly to the two androids, laying another burning hand on Nines’ shoulder, “what’s up? Nines, kiddo, you’re shaking.”

“Of course he’s shaking,” Connor grits out, “he’s almost the android equivalent of hypothermic.”

“Shit, that’s a thing?” Hank springs into action, gently prodding Nines’ shoulder. “Come on, we gotta move.”

They strip him of his wet uniform, Connor rushing it to the laundry room and coming back in the time it takes Hank to help Nines maneuver into the shower.

“Come on, son,” Hank says in that soft, _wonderful_ voice, “let’s get you warmed up. I’m gonna have you just sit here, okay? We’re gonna have Connor stay with you, get your muscles a little better, okay?”

Nines nods, suddenly aware that it’s starting to tingle. Hank murmurs something to Connor who nods, stripping out of his own clothes and carefully sitting behind Nines, pressing his warm chest against Nines’ back. Hank hands him a warm compress and disappears again.

“He’s gonna get you something to drink,” Connor murmurs, pressing the warm, dry compress against Nines’ chest. The heat from his chest and the compress, plus the warmth of Connor’s forehead against the nape of his neck, amps up Nines’ ability to shiver. “Shh, shh,” Connor soothes when Nines cries out, “you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Hank returns, propping himself on the edge of the tub and carefully raising a glass of warm thirium to Nines’ lips. “Drink, son, come on.”

The liquid helps him warm up, but now all he can do is shiver terribly. Connor keeps the compress pressed against him, keeps holding him close, Hank pulls away to let him breathe and to wipe away any stray drops that escape. Now his body fights between the warmth and the cold, each vying for more control.

“Shh,” Hank says when Nines sobs, “I know it hurts, son, you’re doing great. We’re almost there. Then we’ll get you nice and warm, hmm?”

Nines nods desperately and drinks more of the thirium. Connor’s hand traces idle patterns on his stomach, his warm breath puffing onto his shoulder. Hank’s hand supports his chin, occasionally stroking down his throat to help him swallow. He’s shivering terribly now, but he can move his fingers.

“Good,” Hank murmurs when Nines starts opening and closing his fists, “now let’s not do too much of that, okay? Don’t wanna force the cold stuff back to your pump, it might fail.”

Nines nods. He finishes the glass of thirium and Hank goes to get more. Connor tucks his head over Nines’ shoulder. He must be warming his skin, keeping the compress and Nines’ neck at the right temperature.

“Oh, Nines,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“I—I didn’t mean to—to stay out that l-long,” Nines manages through his chattering teeth, “I d-didn’t.”

“I know, I know,” Connor hushes, “I mean about the other things. I know why you didn’t come tell us—even though you _could_ have, Nines, you could have—and I’m so _sorry._ ”

“Y-you would have.”

“Yes,” Connor agrees and Nines’ thirium pump aches, “but that’s because I knew I could. I had the reassurance that I was wanted, that I was valued. That Hank would _care_ if I was unhappy. They noticed.”

He tightens his grip gently on Nines, rubbing soothing circles into his stomach.

“You didn’t. And that’s not on you. That’s on us. Shh,” he says again when Nines opens his mouth to protest, “it is, Nines. We’ll be better.”

“Damn right we will,” Hank grumbles, coming back to sit on the edge of the tub, “come on, son. Open up.”

“B-but—“

“No buts, kiddo,” Hank says, helping Nines drink more of the thirium, “we will. You’re my son too, you’re Connor’s brother. You’re Nines.”

Eventually, it gets to the point where Nines is shaking so much he can’t drink the thirium comfortably. When that happens, Hank pulls away and ruffles Nines’ hair.

“What was his core temp,” he hears Hank ask Connor, “when we brought him in?”

“72.8º,” Connor answers, “comparable to a human temperature of 90.1º.”

“Okay,” Hank sighs, “and what is it now?”

“78.3º. Comparable to a human temperature of 95.2º.”

“We’re out of the worst of it, then?”

Connor nods. “It should be safe to start getting him warmer through other means.”

“Shower?”

“Maybe not. Could cause damage to the skin.”

“Alright. I’ll get the extra blankets and the weighted one. Our resident space heater’s on his way too.” Hank lifts Nines’ chin gently. “I’m gonna get your favorite hoodie too, okay?”

Nines nods. Hank gives his cheek a pat and leaves. They hear him call for Sumo and watch the dog trot obediently past the door.

“I like Sumo,” Nines says in between bursts of shivering.

“Me too.” Connor squeezes him round the middle again, laying aside the warm compress to press his hand directly against Nines’ chest, feeling for the gentle _thump-thump_ of his thirium pump. His other hand goes back to tracing gentle patterns over Nines’ stomach.

“Th-thank you, Connor.”

“Of course, Nines,” Connor says immediately, pressing a kiss to Nines’ neck, “it’s no trouble. You’re my brother. I love you.”

“…l-love you too.”

Hank comes back, carrying the faded blue hoodie and a pair of pajama pants. They dress him carefully, helping him up and to the bedroom. Connor baps him gently across the face with a pillow as they make their nest, Connor crawling in eagerly next to him.

“Easy, Con,” Hank scolds, “be gentle.”

“I will!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to come here too, Hank.”

“I’m right here,” Hank says, tucking himself next to Nines.

“Ah! Sumo!”

Sumo, of course, just lays down right on top of Connor, leaning over to lap at Nines’ face, oblivious or uncaring of the fact that every time his tail wags he’s whacking Connor in the face.

“Sumo,” Nines says, “move, you’re going to hurt them.”

Sumo moves, laying across their legs. He takes up position, watching the door, ever the faithful guard dog.

Nines’ chest shakes.

“Shh, shh,” Hank says instantly, noticing him start to shake again, “you’re warm now, son, you’ll be okay.”

“I—I—I don’t wanna—it’ll _hurt—“_

“What’ll hurt, son?”

“I-if I cry.”

“Oh, Nines,” Connor murmurs, rubbing Nines’ stomach and chest, “it’s okay. You’re out of danger, your pump won’t fail. Just take some deep breaths, you’ll be okay.”

Hank wipes away his tears, letting him weep into his shoulder. Connor doesn’t pull away, resting the layers of blankets on top of them. It’s warm. It hurts but it’s warm.

“There you go, son,” Hank encourages, “you just let it all out. Shh. Shh. You’re okay. We’re right here.”

The numbness falls away and Nines cries.

When he walks into the precinct on Monday his desk is next to Connor's. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Feeling of Warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822835) by [SpringlockedSpectre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpringlockedSpectre/pseuds/SpringlockedSpectre)
  * [numb until you burn it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282093) by [Archadian_Skies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies)
  * [It's gonna be alright](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879914) by [Rk900 (Thief_0f_heart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thief_0f_heart/pseuds/Rk900)




End file.
